The Science of the Undead
by SuzuranCrow23
Summary: When John wakes up from a coma in a post-apocalyptic world filled with zombies he is completely lost. That is, until he finds a stranger who seems to know all of the answers. Will John be able to survive this Hell with the help of genius Sherlock Holmes?


I know I shouldn't be uploading more fanfictions but I couldn't help myself. After making a cross over between House and the Walking Dead, I couldn't help but wonder how Sherlocj would react :)

This may be a one-off - I'm not sure whether to integrate Walking Dead Characters, or to entirely use Sherlock characters instead.

Also - any opinions on whether this should be a romance fic or not? I like Sherlock/John pairings, but I'm not sure with it in this fic.

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John groaned loudly, running a hand through his greying hair; he could feel the large lump decorating the side of his head, sending dull throbbing sensations pounding through his skull.

He quickly assessed the room he found himself in, steeling himself; a basic form of training given to him in the army, in the worst case scenario of being captured by the enemy. It was small, probably a flat. The wallpaper was peeling; it looked like a smiley face had been spray painted on. Its furnishings were old, like the person living there didn't care much for modernity or furniture in general.

The windows were boarded up, slivers of sharp light shone through, temporarily blinding him; leaving bright spots floating in front of his eyes. At least he knew it was daytime.

It was then that John noticed the tall, slender man leaning against the peeled painted doorframe.

The man's blue eyes were piercing, scanning his body at a speed John could only imagine. His lips seemed to twitch into a knowing smirk, before switching to a forced clinical smile; the one doctors like himself gave patients who were either going to die, or were wasting his time in general.

"You're awake," the man stated, his voice dry and filled with a fake sense of interest.

John cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling at his dark, grime filled jacket in an effort to shield himself from this intimidating stranger.

"What's your name? Why were you found in the middle of the city?" he inquired, his fingers tapping on the surface of a dusty table, not seeming to mind the messy piles of sheets and books.

John swallowed, believing it to be smarter to lie - he didn't know if he could trust the man or not.

"Um, Paul. My name's Paul. I guess I hoped the city would be empty of them by now," he shrugged smoothly, giving an awkward smile to the man in an attempt to alleviate the tension filling the room.

His eyes seemed to narrow ever so slightly, "Lies," he uttered, an amused look occupying his face.

John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the stranger gave him 20 seconds before explaining in great detail how he knew John was lying.

"The name... It's not Paul - amusingly so, you made up the name on the spot; my scarf - of a discontinued Paul Smith line, your subconscious recognised it and gave you the name Paul."

John squirmed, staring the man down waiting for the next part.

"Your limp suggest you are a veteran; the tan you carry clearly means you've been abroad due to the rain we've had for months- Afghanistan perhaps?" he took a slight breath before continuing, "You have needle marks on your arm, a clear mark of an IV - now why would you have them? Interesting. This in addition to the way you referred to the walkers as 'them' suggests you haven't gotten used to this apocalypse - we've had weeks of it already, even pathetic idiots have accepted this. I conclude that you were possibly in some type of coma, resulting in you awakening in a world much more different that the one you had left."

John's mouth gaped open in sheer shock and amazement, the man had recited every single detail.

The stranger quirked his eyebrow, his eyes portraying a bored expression, "I tend to have that effect on people," he remarked.

However, his emotionless mask shattered temporarily at the words that came out of John's mouth: "Amazing. Bloody amazing."

He clearly hadn't expected the appraisal, smiling with a chuckle at this outburst.

"John, my name's John," he murmured, blinking in a daze.

"Hmm, well John we could use a doctor," he stated, his eyes boring holes into John's.

"We? Wait. How did you know I was a doctor?" he questioned, his head spinning at all of the questions the man was producing from him.

"You have a small scar on your left index finger; congruent with a cut from a scalpel. But, that's not enough to conclude you were a doctor; however your hands are smooth. A builder or any other craftsman's hands would be calloused - yours aren't. Alongside the slight scent of beeswax, commonly used by surgeons to keep their hands smooth and well for surgery," he answered, his eyes sparkling slightly at the positive response coming from John.

"Well, I suppose it's time for you to meet the others," the man stated matter-of-factly.

John blinked, nodding slowly as the man opened the door for them both.

"Wait! What's your name?" John hurriedly asked, realising that whilst the man knew everything about him; he knew absolutely nothing about the man, not even his name.

"Sherlock," he replied, turning his head to give him a wink before walking through the doorway.

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Tell me what you think - I'd love to hear any ideas you have =D


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